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Published: February 6th 2007
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Sorry for this one Mom...
Every bone in my body ached. I had just spent the better half of my day enjoying what was the tail end of a 31-hour train ride from Chengdu to Liuzhou. I was hungry too. Two bowls of Kang Shifu noodles just don't seem to do the trick like Top Ramen does.
I made my way out of the train station, dreary-eyed from the night of sleepless Chinese train riding. I needed to get to Guilin, where I could find an easy, and cheap, ride to nearby Yangshuo. I take one step out on the water-soaked pavement, and immediately am confronted by ten toats dying to take me there.
"50 kuai." Not unreasonable, but the car had better be nice. I agree to go, but before we are off, my man decides to look for an extra fare. No luck. In the ensuing confusion, I am completely lost as he begins chatting with the other drivers. "Shenme? Shenme! What did you say?" Apparently he now wants me to go to the bus station, at least I think that is what he's going for with his flailing hand motions.
He points to a
small three-wheel, open-air rickshaw, complete with what I can only assume is a motor. Sadly though, no driver. He tells me to jump in, and for 5 yuan, a quick jaunt to the bus station. No sooner than I am in, he is gone. I'm praying he is looking for a driver. Yes, yes he was.
Liu Ming looked to be about 60 or so, though it can get hard to tell around here with more than one weather-beaten face about. He looked to be in solid form as I saw his head bouncing over the red roofs of the other rickshaws. Looks can be deceiving. He rounded the front wheel of my 'shaw, and to my surprise, something was missing. Like his leg.
Yes, Old Ming wasn't quite a full man, but he sure was jolly. And man could he drive. We were soon off, diving in and out of buses, an occasional tractor, and of course, pedestrians. Ming was strong. Ming was fast. And before I could wipe the silly grin off my face, we were there. I thanked my new friend and jumped on the bus.
A 2-hour bus ride and I was in
Guilin. By this time it was nearly 7:30 at night, and a thick blanket of black coated all the buildings, and most disappointingly, the unworldly peaks that dot Guangxi province's landscape. A woman who tried to talk to me on the bus, and I emphasize tried, understood that I wanted to go to Yangshuo. Somewhere in the conversation, she said she would help me find a driver. And again, my second driver of the day was found.
We'll call him Bill. Bill and I, backpacks in hand, make are way through the brightly neon-lit bus station to his vehicle. I'm greeted first by a loud cheer of "Waiguoren!" from the other drivers as we reach his parking spot. And there it was, shining like a green gem of hope in the pulsating purple and blue light - Bill's motorcycle.
He hands me a helmet.
I'm not sure if two people are supposed to ride this thing, but we did, oversized backpacks as well. We first are slow, dodging through a bustling Guilin night market. As is the theme today with transportation, I have another stupid grin on my face, and every diner in the place can see
it, grinning jokingly back. Their smiles have a distinctly different feel to them than mine, like they know something I don't. Soon though, we escape. Escape into the darkness.
The road from Guilin to Yangshuo is wide and dark. The southern climate has cast a thick haze over the land, and in the black of night, has made seeing anything past the single headlight impossible. We are going faster now. Maybe too fast. 70 kph is a good click on a motorcycle, especially one that saw its prime years during the Great Leap Forward. It shakes violently at every bump, my legs already numb from the vibration. I still can't stop smiling.
My driver chirps at me. "Zhuyi Anquan!" Mind your safety! I think to myself, "Mind my safety? You mind my safety, you're driving this junk!" "Anquan Di Yi!” Safety First! Ok Bill, whatever you say. I look down at the whizzing road, bad idea. All I can think of is a single hard bump sending me to certain doom. My helmet, now floating effortlessly like a cloud on top of my head, fastened only by a loose thread under my chin, will be enough though. "Right, Bill?"
For all its touristy appeal, the area seems to be completely dead. Just the long road in front, lined with perfect rows of planted trees, their trunks now whitewashed for protection. Behind us, pure and utter darkness. A few yellow lines break into view as the lone light on our front side shines the way forward. I was nowhere. No distinguishing features to guide my bearings, no people around to connect with. Just Bill and I. Positively and completely, nowhere.
Something though, was breaking through the black ahead. It was enormous, its figure subtly illuminated by the moon overhead. Fast too, as fast as my Great Leap motorcycle. But bigger, much bigger. And then it broke through. Guilin's karst peaks, one sitting lonely in the dark. Like a fallen god, it glowed in the darkness, now its only domain a small stretch of nowhere highway.
And in a blink, it was gone again. Back up to its rightful place in the night sky. Something new was coming though. This time from behind. Lights illuminate the bike, and I know immediately this too is something big. A bus, doing at least 130kph, decides to test its steering by coming within mere inches of our tail, then darting violently left to pass. It next checks its brakes, slowing to a crawl directly in front, Bill now sweating with anger. The bus driver punches it, engulfing us in a cloud of black smog. The beast tears forward, again chancing its luck between two dump trucks. All I could think of were the Chinese tourists inside, oohing and awwing at the nowhere sights of a nowhere place on a nowhere road.
It was black again. We continued to tear down the road, butt numb from Soviet-era cushioning and engine drawl. Behind, still darkness. Forward, a thin beam of glowing light cutting the fog ahead. To the side though, orange. Little specks of orange begin dotting the roadside, a sort of glowing sideline for our path. Youzi. Everwhere. Youzis are large, grapefruit-like fruits that, while delicious, seem to also glow in the depth of night. A smell of citrus cuts the air, a pleasant distraction from my bus-smogged jacket.
Another fallen god looms ahead in the darkness. It has a few partners this time. A graveyard of collapsed deities, their immensity cuts ever so slightly through the black haze. Welcome to Yangshuo.
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